


Love Story in Trash Polka

by sebastian2017



Series: Floral Tattoos [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, First Meetings, Greg is a tattoo artist, M/M, Mycroft is a florist, florist/tattoo artist au, greg and molly are bros and they chat over a tattoo, they talk about boys, theyre just so fucking cute and adorable i cant even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastian2017/pseuds/sebastian2017
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to Ink Blots on Lilies. </p><p>Greg has a type. His type is a far cry from what one would expect from a tattoo artist. Ever since he was a teenager, he'd had a thing for well dressed, posh boys. And the florist he buys his latest batch of flowers from? Definitely his type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Story in Trash Polka

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece for Ink Blots on Lilies (which can be found on my profile). It's the story from Greg's POV. You don't really need to read Ink Blots on Lilies to understand this one, but they compliment each other. Just like the notes on IBoL said, Mycroft isn't really an ice man in this because he's not in government work and Greg isn't hardened by years on the Yard. He's just a chill dude with a lot of tattoos and a crush
> 
> And for those that don't know, trash polka is a style of tattoo that I can see Greg doing a lot of.

Greg had wanted to be a rock star. When he’d been a little kid, he’d grown up with The Clash and The Ramones and The Sex Pistols blaring in his bedroom at all hours of the day. His parents had absolutely hated it, trying to get him to listen to different music. Anything else. Disco or pop or folk or anything else. Just not the punk rock that Greg absolutely adored. But for all that they’d tried, Greg’s love for counter culture had never faded.

He’d been eight when he got his first guitar, twelve when he’d dyed his hair bright red, fifteen when he’d started his first band, seventeen when he’d pierced his lip, and two days past his eighteenth birthday when he got his first tattoo. Greg’s parents had thrown fits every time he came home looking more and more like a delinquent, as they put it. Greg had just been pleased that he looked more and more like all his favorite musicians. When Greg had moved out, it hadn’t been to go to university like his parents had wanted, but to pursue his music career. He’d done a few years as a starving artist, getting small gigs here and there, but only just scraping by for the most part. At twenty-three, through chance and circumstance, Greg had wound up with an apprenticeship in a tattoo parlor.

The music career dream had faded, replaced with dreams of owning his own tattoo shop. He’d fallen in love with the practice and the subculture that came with it. The newfound regularity in meals was an added bonus and while it was certainly not a job his parents would go around bragging about, they appreciated the semi stability that his apprenticeship provided. Greg had moved out of his run-down studio apartment, his band had found a new guitarist, and piece by piece Greg had become covered in his colleagues’ artwork. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d become a tattoo artist, but life had just worked out like that.

Greg had tattooed just about everything over the years. He had his preference, of course, but there was very little he wouldn’t do. Which is why once a month, he’d spend his days tattooing flowers. Flowers weren’t common in the style he preferred – trash polka, because the punk rocker in Greg had never truly left, just shifted passions from music to tattooing – but they weren’t unheard of either and Greg detested using online references for his flower tattoos, so he just booked them all for the same day so he could just make one trip to the florist and be done with. Flower runs were never fun. People buying flowers tended to be the same people looking at his tattoos with disdainful grimaces.

In an effort to avoid all those judgmental glances, Greg always went to the same shop. A tiny one whose owner he got along with well enough and didn’t get enough traffic for there to be too many people to run into when he picked up his orders. Just his luck that he’d find out that the shop would be closed the same weekend he needed to pick up his flowers. He’d scrambled about trying to find somewhere and settled on the first one that would have the flowers he needed. He’d called in his order, arranging to pick it up the next Saturday morning, and giving his personal information instead of the tattoo parlor’s so he could avoid the disapproving scoffs.

Saturday turned out to be lovely morning and Greg walked over to Holmes’ Flowers to enjoy the weather. When he rounded the corner onto the shop’s street, he slowed considerably to read the numbers and names on the shops as he tried to find the florist. Several people around him held onto their purses and bags tighter, but Greg didn’t pay them any mind. He was too busy letting out a victorious “Aha!” and heading into the shop. A bell above the door chimed to signal his entrance and an absolutely gorgeous man (Holmes, Greg assumed, since owners usually worked the shop like any other employee in small shops like this) looked up. Holmes’ gave him a look over and the confusion was evident as he lingered on Greg’s visible tattoos, but Greg just grinned at him. He had a type and despite his line of work, posh looking blokes like this fit it to a t. He won’t flirt – he was nearing fifty, not fifteen, and Holmes probably had wife and kids waiting for him at home – but he could damn well admire.

“Morning!” Greg greeted and he’s ashamed to realize that he sounded downright chipper. Who can blame him, though? A handsome man was the perfect way to start the morning. “I’m here to pick up an order I made over the phone. For a Lestrade?”

“Gregory Lestrade? Yes, that’s right in the back. One moment, please.” Holmes then disappeared into the backroom and Greg found himself regretting that he wasn’t getting flowers from the front of the shop so that Holmes could stay. The wait was longer than usual and Greg leaned up against the counter as he waited, fiddling with his phone and confirming appointments for the rest of the day. Holmes finally came back out and Greg smiled at him again. “Bit of a strange combination, this arrangement.” Holmes pointed out and it’s nothing Greg hadn’t heard before. He always got the flowers for vastly different tattoos on the same day and it always made for some rather strange mixes.

Greg nodded as he pulled his credit card out to pay. “It is, yes. Don’t worry, they won’t be together for long.” he promised. He knew that bad arrangements are to florists what poorly executed tattoos are to him.

Holmes barely let on that he’d heard, only nodding minutely and ringing him up for the purchase. “Well, there you are. Enjoy your order, Mr. Lestrade.” Holmes handed him his card back.

Greg smiled at him and waved goodbye on his way out. He got even more odd looks now, a heavily tattooed middle aged man with an odd bouquet of flowers in hand, but Greg is just happy that things had worked out, despite the initial crisis of his usual flower shop being closed. It’s only when he was walking back into his shop that he realized there’d been no wedding ring on Holmes’ hand when he’d handed him his card.

\---

Some tattoo artists are completely silent while they work. Greg’s own mentor had been the type to not even try to make small talk while he worked. Greg was nothing like that at all. He talked as much as a hairdresser while he worked. He’d go on and on and on, happy to hear his client’s gossip or discuss the latest episode of whatever soap opera happened to be popular at the moment. It’s no surprise that Greg wound up telling his first client of the day all about Mycroft. Molly was a sweet young thing with only one other tattoo on her, a new school kitten on her shoulder (done by Greg a few months earlier) that is a huge contrast to the trash polka lilies she was getting. That only made Greg like her even more. He adored people who look sweet and innocence, but have some badass ink under their clothes. It was one of the reasons he’d kept in contact with her after finishing up their first project together. Molly would be a great listening ear for a few hours, Greg knew.

“Oh, Molly, the florist I got these from was gorgeous. Red hair and freckles and wearing the most expensive sweater I’ve ever seen in my life.” Greg gushed as he set up his needle and starts the tattoo. “Wasn’t married – didn’t have a ring, I saw – but probably straight and in some long term relationship anyway.”

Molly’s delighted laughter had been interrupted briefly by the sting of the needle, but then she’d gone right back to smiling brightly at him. “That’s so sweet! You should find some excuse to go back tomorrow. You never know. The man runs a flower shop, after all.”

“Hush. I’m sure there’s plenty of straight men who run flower shops. Besides, haven’t got an excuse to go back tomorrow. Got all the flowers I need. Might keep it in mind for the next time I’m on a flower run. Holmes’ Flowers. The flowers are good quality and the florist is fit, so why not?” Greg explained, shrugging.

Molly gasped so loudly that Greg had panicked that she was having second thoughts about the tattoo and nearly ruined his line work with a startled jump. “Greg! Holmes’ flowers on Lilford road? Really tall florist, really pale, and with a rather large nose?” Molly squealed with so much excitement that Greg pulled back from the tattoo until she’d calmed down. “I work with his brother sometimes! Trust me, Greg, the man is very gay and very single.”

Greg raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look up from the tattoo as he got back to work. “Fucking seriously? Well, imagine that. You sure he’s single? Bloke like that must have someone at home.”

“Nope. He’s a bit awkward.” Molly explained. “You should go by tomorrow! His name’s Mycroft and he’s very awkward and a bit of an arse sometimes, admittedly, but it’s worth a try. One date wouldn’t hurt.”

“Still haven’t got an excuse to go back to the shop. And I’m sure as fuck not just showing up for no reason but to ask him out.” Greg said, shaking his head.

Molly just hummed mischievously and changed the subject. Greg knew that look and kept an eye out for her matchmaking mischief for the rest of her appointment, but didn’t act fast enough to keep her from ‘accidentally’ spilling some left over ink over the lilies. The lilies were just about ruined and Greg knew he needed a fresh set for the coloring in the next day. He pretended to be annoyed and exasperated, but on the inside, he was absolutely giddy.

\-----

Greg passed by the shop the next day with every intention of asking Mycroft out to dinner. He’d taken one step into the shop, though, and wimped out. He’d gone as far as to risk a wink (like he was bloody James Dean or something, honestly what was he thinking?) before he fled on the nearest cab. Molly had taken one look at him and declared that she’d text him every hour on the hour until Greg took Mycroft out for coffee.

\-----

Molly could be a very scary woman when she wanted to. She’d certainly scared Greg into submission. After a few dozen texts from her, Greg decided that even a rejection from Mycroft could be no worse than having to face Molly’s wrath next time she saw him. He’d spent the day talking all his clients’ ears off and they’d all given him their own bit of relationship advice and first date ideas. By the time Greg closed up shop, his stomach was doing flips and turns from the nerves. He walked over to Holmes’ Flowers, enjoying the time it gave him to think and calm himself. He’d scheduled his day perfectly so that he’d be walking in just as the shop was supposed to close. Molly had informed him that Mycroft took his shop very seriously and Greg figured he’d be more likely to get a yes from the man if he could guarantee that the shop wouldn’t get in the way.

Greg walked into Holmes’ Flowers with two minutes to spare before closing time. Mycroft looked up with the annoyance of all shop workers when someone walks in minutes before closing time, but his face softened when he saw who it was. Greg took that as a good sign.

“Spilled some more ink on your lilies?” Mycroft asked with a barely there smirk.

Greg laughed, shrugging as the butterflies in his stomach grew. He went up to the counter and leaned against it. “Something like that. I’m actually here looking for a nice bouquet of tulips this time around.” Greg knew incredibly little about flowers, but tulips seemed pretty enough, so he’d hoped they would be enough.

“Of course.” Mycroft had tensed up and Greg’s nerves had skyrocketed but there was no turning back now. “What color?”

Fuck. The color. Greg hadn’t even spared a second thought to the color. He pretended to think it over to buy himself time, but to be honest, he wasn’t even sure what range of color tulips had. “I don’t know. Surprise me. Pick your favorite color.” That had to work. After all, he couldn’t go wrong if the recipient himself was picking out the flowers.

Mycroft looked through all the tulips out in the shop before gathering some orange ones. Greg watched attentively, admiring the deft hands and elegance as Mycroft worked. “Going out?” Mycroft asked when he came back to the counter.

If Greg had been a weaker man, he might have blushed. Instead, he just shrugged and checked the time on his phone. Still another minute or so until closing time. “Well, I’m not quite sure yet.” He stared at his phone, willing the damn thing to change to seven. When it did, he held it up and displayed the time with a grin, hoping to come off as triumphant and confident, but knowing that more likely than not, he just looked terribly shy. He held the flowers out and thought back to Molly’s dozens of texts to give him a confidence boost and just ask. “See, I’ve got these beautiful flowers here and I know a little coffee shop playing some jazz until nine and the bloke I want to take out has just closed up shop and should be free for the night, but I’m not quite sure he’ll agree.”

Mycroft’s ears turned red and it was all Greg could do to not gush and kiss him right there. Before he knew it, Mycroft had locked up shop and Greg had Mycroft’s hand in his as they walked to the café for their first date. When he’d been a teenager, Greg had wanted to be a rock star with groupies throwing themselves at him. As they walked, he looked down at their hands and decided that he couldn’t be happier that things didn’t turn out like that.

**Author's Note:**

> ngl my favorite part of writing this was Molly with her tattoos and gossip
> 
> for any questions or prompts or anything, I can be found on tumblr at dilestrade OR unwins-boy


End file.
